


Red Spyder

by JebWritesStuff



Category: Harry Potter - J.K Rowling
Genre: Grownup, Mischief, Other, PostWar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:08:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28231449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JebWritesStuff/pseuds/JebWritesStuff
Summary: Harry obtains a most wonderful Muggle vehicle, and takes Ron for a trip in it.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	Red Spyder

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This was a stupid, random idea I thought of in that fuzzy-brained miasma between waking up and actually getting out of bed. For the best reader experience, blast the song 'Red Barchetta' by Rush while reading.

It was a warm and quiet August morning in Ottery St. Catchpole. Ron Weasley whistled a jaunty tune as he strolled along the River Otter that ran around the back of the Burrow property line, in high spirits. Baby Rosie had gurgled her first word just two days before, at barely six months old; the euphoric feeling still stayed with him even after the mostly sleepless last 48 hours. Hermione was in the house with Fleur and Bill, cooing over Rosie, and Ginny, Harry and the boys were meant to be coming down later to spend a few days of the summer holidays at the Burrow.   
  
Ron sighed contentedly. Yep, life was just about perfect as it was right now.   
  
A sudden roar coming from the front of the house caught his attention. Whipping around, Ron whipped out his wand automatically, fearing that the incessant roaring might be a curse, or some sort of bomb. It had been more than eight years since Voldemort had been vanquished, but there were still factions of Death Eaters and their supporters out there. You couldn’t be too careful these days.   
  
As Ron advanced, the roaring noise grew louder, then abruptly changed in pitch, going from a lower growl to a deep, throaty burble. He saw his mum beside the dirt driveway, looking up into the trees with a hand over her eyes - she seemed just as mystified as he was.   
  
“Mum, what the hell is that racket?” Ron shouted at her. She whirled around to look at him, and he could see that, like him, she also had her wand held at her side. A memory came into his head, unbidden, of Mad-Eye Moody screaming ‘Constant vigilance!’ and he banished it from his mind with a quick flick of the head.   
  
“I’ve no idea what’s going on, Ron. I just hope-”   
  
But what it was that his mother hoped, Ron Weasley never found out. For at that moment, there was a rattle of dirt and gravel, and the most beautiful vehicle he’d ever seen rolled into the clearing. It was a Muggle car, but it was certainly a far cry from his father’s Ford Anglia or Hermione’s little Honda hatchback. This car was a glittering cherry red, with a sloping windshield, no roof, and sleek, panther-like lines.   
  
The car stopped, and its driver opened the side door and slid ungainly onto the rutted dirt path leading up to the path. Upon catching sight of Ron and Mrs. Weasley, the figure removed the sunglasses it was wearing and waved vigorously at them. Ron grinned back, and jogged forward. He’d know that awkward, loping gait and socially extreme manner anywhere.   
  
“Harry, what the bloody hell have you got there? She’s a right stunner of a car!” Ron called.   
  
Harry Potter ran a hand through his hair and grinned sheepishly.   
  
“All right, Ron? Oh - hello over there, Mrs Weasley!” he shouted cheerfully, noticing Mrs. Weasley watching him with her arms folded and an expression of mock anger on her face. Mrs. Weasley strode over to the two men, attempting to conceal a smirk.   
  
“Harry James Potter, what sort of Muggle abomination have you parked in front of my house?” she asked, attempting to sound cross but giving it away with a quick smile and a hug. Ron gave a gasp of mock outrage, and Harry rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly as Mrs. Weasley released him.   
  
“She’s not an abomination, Mrs. Weasley! That there is a Ferrari 430 Spyder.” Ron laughed with recognition, and Harry shot him a withering glare. Mrs. Weasley was nonplussed.

“A what? I can see it’s a Muggle car, but it looks very different to Arthur’s. What have they done to the roof, for Merlin’s sake! Why has it got a great panel of glass on the back - surely you can’t see through it from inside the car?” she asked.   
  
Ron was still chortling. “Midlife crisis came about twenty years too early, did it, Harry?” he snorted, amid Mrs. Weasley’s confused questions. Harry sighed, a little exasperatedly, as if the mixed hilarity and confusion were almost routine to him.   
  
“No, I have not had my midlife crisis, and the roof is supposed to be off, Mrs Weasley. It’s a convertible.” Mrs. Weasley gave a small  _ ah  _ of acknowledgement as Harry carried on.   
  
“Ginny was actually the one who suggested getting a Ferrari. She has that big Muggle station wagon to drive her brooms around with the boys and the shopping in the back - we’re trying to fit in better with the Muggle side of the world, give the boys a view of both sides of the spectrum. Anyway, Gin said I should treat myself to a sports car for the summer, a nice convertible. We had a look through a few catalogues and decided on the Ferrari; I just drove it down here to see if Ron would like a ride.” Seeing the unanswered question in Mrs. Weasley’s eyes, he hastily added: “Ginny, James and little Albus are taking the station wagon down - they’ll be here for lunchtime.”

“Oh, I suppose I’d better get lunch ready. Have fun, you two- Teddy Lupin, what have I told you about coming out of the house on your own?’ Mrs. Weasley shouted crossly as a greenish-pink blur shot down the path and gasped loudly.

“Wow, wow! Harry, is this wicked sports car yours? I saw a Ferrari like this one in Arthur’s big book of racing cars!” Teddy shouted excitedly. At eight years old, Teddy was seemingly a bundle of non-stop energy, and had an enthusiasm for pretty much anything that went fast. Racing brooms, cars, even aeroplanes: if it went fast, Teddy wanted it.   
  
“Sure is, Teddy. D’you like it?” Harry asked, as Teddy’s short hair changed colour to the Ferrari’s red hue.   
  
“It’s  _ awesome!  _ Can I drive with you in it? Pleeeease?” Teddy begged. Harry grinned at him and ruffled his shockingly bright red hair.    
  
“I’ll take you out in it later, Teddy. I’m going to take Ron for a drive first.” Harry replied, then turned to Ron.   
  
“Ready to go, mate?”    
  


“You bloody bet!” Ron replied, making a beeline for the passenger side door. Unlike Hermione, Ron still couldn’t drive a Muggle car; he’d made a half-hearted attempt to learn, but after nearly backing over his neighbor’s cat and parking sideways at the local supermarket, he had decided to leave driving to Hermione for another few years. Hermione was a more than competent driver, anyway, and she enjoyed driving their little family around from place to place. She said it made her feel content, and even relaxed. Ron shook his head.  _ Driving, relaxing? That’ll be the day, _ he thought to himself wryly.

He slid into the Ferrari’s sumptuous leather passenger seat. The leather was a creamy, light-brown colour, and felt a million times comfier than the raggedy cushions on the seats of his dad’s old Ford. He swung the door shut and grinned at Harry, who was sitting in the driver’s seat. 

“Sit back; it’s gonna get loud!” Harry warned, and pressed a button beside the starting wheel. With a high-pitched revving sound, the Ferrari’s engine sprang to life behind Ron’s head, and he grinned maniacally. Harry turned to him, laughing.   
“Let’s take her for a spin!” he shouted over the noise of the engine, and reversed out of the driveway. Ron caught the eye of Teddy, who was staring wide-eyed at the Ferrari as it disappeared into the foliage on either side of the drive. With a wave, Ron watched the Burrow recede from view until the Ferrari was back onto the main road.   
  


***

  
After ten minutes, Ron had to admit, Harry was a great driver. The dozy little country roads around Ottery St. Catchpole were technically under a fifty-mile per hour speed limit, but the quick glimpses of the speedometer told Ron they were driving at well over double that most of the time.   
  
“Where did you learn to drive like this?” Ron shouted.   
“I had a few days of practice at a racetrack for my birthday! Plus, I drove this car on the PlayStation!” Harry shouted back as he shifted the car into sixth gear, and the needle on the speedometer crept towards the 160 mile-an-hour marker on the speedo.   
“What’s a PlayStation?” Ron replied, bemused. Harry just laughed.   
  
As the Ferrari roared around a corner, Ron saw a blaring red and blue light in the distance. A siren split the air, fighting to be heard over the raucous scream of the Ferrari’s engine.   
“Harry, mate! The, um, the whaddya call ‘em, please-men are behind us!” Ron cried, a note of panic creeping into his voice. Harry swore and let off the accelerator, letting the Ferrari coast slowly to a stop at the side of the road. Even as the wild, revving bellow of the Ferrari’s engine tapered off, Ron couldn’t help but marvel. It really was a beautiful-sounding machine.   
  
With a chirrup of tires, Harry brought the Ferrari to a halt at the side of the road. The flashing red and blue lights grew larger in the mirror, before eventually stopping right behind them. A tall, blonde man in a funny looking cap opened the door of the little police hatchback and strode over to them, looking very cross and purposeful. Ron gulped. This was about ten thousand times more scary than realizing he’d left his Transfiguration essay in his room as McGonagall made the homework collection rounds.   
  
The policeman motioned for Harry to roll his window down and leaned into the car, face adored with an oily smirk.  _ This road probably sees no police activity, ever, and he just so happened to be driving into the village when we shot past,  _ Ron thought glumly.  _ Lucky us. _ _  
  
_

“You know how fast the speed limit is on these roads, old boy?” the policemen asked Harry, with a hint of mirth in his voice. “You know how fast you were going in your Italian stallion?” he continued, puckering his lips with the ‘st’ sound in stallion and showering Harry’s cheek in spittle. Harry was staring straight ahead, his mouth stretched into a thin line. Ron noticed his friend’s knuckles whitening as they gripped the Ferrari’s steering wheel.   
  
“One hundred and fifty-three miles per hour, sir.” Harry grunted through gritted teeth. The policemen’s eyes widened.   
“Well, well, well. Looks like you two are gonna be ending your little joyride in my jail cell.” the officer retorted smugly. “This could be a stolen car too, if you decide to give me any more lip. Or maybe I’ll trump it up to stolen anyway, because I don’t like gingers.” The policeman gave Ron a disparaging glance.   
  
“Shut up, you stupid bastard!” responded Ron, incensed by the ginger comment. How  _ dare  _ this oily, smirking arsehole talk to him like that! The policeman, backed up, glaring at Ron, and scrabbled for his radio.   
  
“Call me a bastard, eh, ginger? Don’t think I-”   
  
“Oh, fuck this.” Ron muttered, pulling out his wand.  _ “Confundus!” _ _  
_ _  
_ At once, the policeman’s sneering eyebrows reverted to a blank, crease-free brow, and he smiled vacantly at Harry and Ron.   
“Have a nice day in the sun, chaps.” the officer mumbled dopily, and promptly fell over into a ditch at the side off the road. Harry turned to Ron, and for a moment Ron steeled himself, expecting a bollocking from Harry about using magic on Muggles. Instead, Harry let out a hearty guffaw, and clapped Ron’s shoulder.   
  
“I swear, he was getting on my nerves. Good thinking, mate!” Harry chuckled. Ron broke into a massive grin.   
“Nice driving, Harry, but the speed limit sign is a law, not a recommendation.” Ron replied. “Now can we get back for lunch before this idiot wakes up facedown in mud next to us? And for the love of Merlin’s saggy Y-fronts, take it easy on the way back!”    
  
Harry simply continued chuckling.   
  
“ _ Take it easy…”  _ Harry teased in a singsong voice. “Who are you, and what have you done with Ron Weasley?”   
  
He spun the Ferrari’s steering wheel around expertly and pinned the accelerator to the floor; Ron instinctively grabbed the doorframe. With a whoop and a squealing of tires, Harry spun around onto the opposite side of the road, and launched the Ferrari back home, where lunch was doubtless waiting for them.   



End file.
